


A World That's Just Begun

by still_lycoris



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Depression, Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mentors, Parent-Child Relationship, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-02 04:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8651257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: After everything that happpened in Washington, Hank is looking forward to a brighter future at Charles's side.The last thing that he expects is for Charles to send him away. To have to return to his childhood home. To have to re-evaluate his life and decide what it is that he really and truly wants ...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melody_Jade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melody_Jade/gifts).



Hank woke up feeling hopeful.

The sun was out, shining brightly through the window and there was a different feel to the air somehow. That was probably only in Hank’s imagination but he decided to enjoy it anyway. Things were going to be better now, he knew it and that _wasn’t_ his imagination. That was fact.

It hadn’t been easy to get here. Not at all. The last week had been a nightmare, pure and simple. Watching Charles giving up the alcohol that had sustained him for so long whilst trying to readapt to his telepathy, listening to him crying and moaning, begging ...

No. Hank wasn’t going to think about that. Charles had slept all night, straight through, no cries or whimpers. Perhaps the alcohol was out of his system, perhaps he was better with everything. 

No, no perhaps. Hank was sure of it. Things were _better_.

He headed downstairs and saw with delight that Charles was already up and dressed, sitting in his wheelchair in the sun, staring out over the grounds. Hank wondered if he was thinking about how clean and neat it had once been, compared to the dilapidated state it was in now. It wasn’t exactly pleasing to view but they could clean it up again. They could clean _everything_ up again. Hank could already see the months of work ahead but it would be all right now. 

“Morning Charles! Do you want breakfast out here? It’s so lovely, isn’t it?”

“Hank, I want you to leave.”

The words were flat and blunt and Hank wasn’t quite sure he had heard them right at first. They echoed in his ears, slowly sinking in and he stared down at Charles, searching for an answer and finding nothing except blankness.

“Oh God,” Charles said and his voice was shaking. “I’m sorry, I just ... if I hadn’t said it like that, I wouldn’t have said it. But this is the right thing Hank. It is.”

“The right thing?” Hank repeated, his voice suddenly returning to him. “The _right thing?_ ”

“Yes,” Charles said. “Yes, it is. Hank, listen to me. Please.”

He caught hold of Hank’s hand gently and Hank couldn’t move away from that grip, even though he almost wanted to. Charles looked pale and serious but he looked himself. Not drunk or stoned or anything else. He looked like the Charles that Hank remembered meeting so long ago.

“Hank, you have been ... you have been working here with me for ten years. For a lot of those, I was ... sick. And you have been wonderful, more than wonderful, you have been _magnificent_ and I hope you know that I appreciate it, more than I can probably ever tell you – ”

“Then why are you saying this?!” Hank couldn’t help interrupting. He felt panicked now, his breath catching in his throat, his heart racing. Was it a joke? A really awful joke that Charles thought was funny in some way?

“Because I’ve used you so badly!” Charles said, sounding stricken. “Hank, I’ve taken advantage of you, disgracefully so. No, don’t argue, just listen. I know you’re going to say that you didn’t mind, that you offered, that you did your best and were happy to do so but I don’t know if that’s true and _you_ don’t know that it’s true because it’s just been so long and you’ve just been ... helping me and helping me and you don’t know anything else. You’re thirty-one years old and you’ve been trapped in a house with a drunk for ten years. I want you to have a chance to consider everything, to rethink your life before you just decide that this is it.”

“But this _is_ my life!”

Hank had never heard his voice go so high-pitched before. He clenched his teeth together and swallowed, trying to get himself under control. Charles was staring at him sadly and Hank hated it. 

“But it doesn’t have to be,” Charles said quietly. “I want you to be happy. I want you to be sure, to really know what you want.”

“I _know_ what I want!”

“Do you? Do you really? Or do you just think you do because you’ve devoted ten years of your life to this? Please don’t misunderstand me, I am so grateful for everything that you’ve done for me, more grateful then I could ever say – ”

“Then don’t send me away!”

He was crying. He didn’t care that he was crying. Charles looked like he was going to cry too. He squeezed Hank’s hand and Hank clutched at him, trying to hang on, trying to remind Charles what they were supposed to be. Trying to remind Charles what they’d shared, what Charles had promised.

“This is for the best, Hank. I know it hurts, it’s hurting me too but we have to ... we have to do this. We need to survive without each other. Just for a month, all right? If you want to come back after a month, you can but ... but we just need to do this.”

“But this is my _home_ ,” Hank said and he sounded pathetic, even to his own ears. “I ... I don’t know where to go ... ”

“Think of it as a holiday,” Charles said and he sounded like he was trying to be deliberately chirpy, as though this could all be covered up by a light-hearted voice. “You have plenty of money – I owe you years of back pay for being housekeeper and carer ... ”

“I didn’t do it for money!”

Charles cringed and looked away. Hank stared at him, taking him in, the way his hair curled around the grubby collar of his top, the thin beard that only really grew there because Charles couldn’t be bothered to shave any more.

“You _need_ me,” he said.

“I can hire a nurse,” Charles said quietly. “And that’s what I will do. A month, Hank. Please. Just a month. Give yourself time to find yourself, to remember who you are.”

Hank turned and walked away. He knew that if he stayed, he would scream or even transform in a burst of impotent rage and if that happened, he might hurt Charles and he couldn’t ...

Charles was sending him away. After everything he had done, everything he had put up with and tolerated, every bit of effort he had put into keep things together and Charles was giving him _money_ and telling him to get out. Charles didn’t want him.

He walked to his room in a daze of misery and rising anger and found himself looking around it, taking it in. He’d let it get untidy recently – with all the things that he needed to do, keeping his room clean had seemed so unimportant. How did he have so much stuff in it anyway? When he’d first begun living here, it had been almost empty ...

He remembered Charles first bringing him into the room, back in 1962. He’d been smiling, cheerful, confident.

“I thought this room would be nice for you – it’s close to the room I always used as a laboratory and I know you’re used to having your own. Feel free to use anything that you want in there, it’s all yours.”

So friendly. Hank stared at him, trying to take in the fact that someone like Charles was offering him all his things, was being so bright, so _kind_ , like they were friends and all of the other people Hank might have thought of as friends were dead now, murdered by Shaw and Shaw’s people ...

“Oh Hank. Oh you poor thing. Come here.”

Charles put his arms around him, hugging him close. Hank had never known another man be so easy with touch. Charles behaved as though it was so normal, as though it was okay to just let someone hug you and that you didn’t have to worry about that ...

He had clung. He had clung and he had cried and Charles had stroked his back and whispered about how it was all right to cry, that it was all right to hurt, that Hank would feel better soon and that they _would_ avenge the deaths of his friends. That everything would be all right in the end.

Charles had taken care of him then.

And now ...

Anger suddenly completely eclipsed the pain and grief. Hank started grabbing clothes, shoving them into a bag. He wouldn’t be able to fit even half of his things in but he didn’t care. He’d just leave them. Charles didn’t want him here, he wouldn’t stay here, not a minute longer than he had to.

Even through his rage, he had the sense to make sure to put in all of the supplies of serum that he had. It might be difficult to make more, depending on where he went He’d have to make sure that he didn’t run out. He couldn’t let the world see him as he was, not now. Not now he was a monster.

He grabbed his coat, then picked up his bag. He couldn’t let himself think, couldn’t let himself focus on anything except getting away from here, getting away from this awfulness.

Charles was in the hall, apparently waiting for him. Hank didn’t try to talk to him. He tried not to see the fact that Charles was crying. He hoped that Charles could read everything in his head, hoped it was hurting Charles the way all the telepathy had before.

He didn’t say goodbye. Charles didn’t speak either. Hank thought he was being watched as he walked out of the door and down the battered, dilapidated drive but he didn’t look back. 

He let himself sag against the wall when he reached the gates. Where was he going to go? How was he going to do this? He didn’t have anywhere, he was alone, he had no job ...

God, he was homeless. He was thirty-one years old and jobless and homeless.

Hank managed to stop himself crying but it was difficult. He gritted his teeth instead, squeezing his bag tightly in his hand. The beast-side of him was surprisingly close and it was a little more helpful than he would have expected. It was stopping him shaming himself and right then, he needed that. 

He ought to have taken one of the cars but he wasn’t going to take anything from Charles, not now. He would just have to walk until he could get a lift, that was all.

By then, perhaps he would actually know where he was going.

It was hard, not looking back. It had been stupid to let himself get used to the mansion, to let himself think of the mansion as home. He should have known that relying on somebody else was a terrible mistake. But it had all seemed so ... sensible. He had been trapped in his Beast form, a monster, unable to even think about leaving the house. 

“You’re welcome here,” Charles had said, putting his hands on Hank’s huge, furry wrists, seemingly not even a little bit repulsed. “Besides, I could use help, getting this place ready to be a school. And you can work on your own cure while you’re here.”

“I wrecked your lab,” Hank said miserably, not able to meet those kindly eyes.

“Then we’ll have to rebuild it,” Charles said, smiling warmly, as though it wasn’t something that he cared about at all. “It would have needed changing anyway if we’re going to let kids in it.”

“How can you be so nice to me? I damaged your property, I ruined ... everything.”

“Hank, don’t be silly,” Charles said. “You didn’t ruin anything except equipment and that can be replaced. Believe me, I understand the urge to destroy things when you’re frustrated.”

He looked down then, down at his newly useless legs and Hank had known what he was thinking. He’d turned his wrist so that he could clasp one of Charles’s hands in one of his big, fluffy paws and Charles had smiled at him and there had been a spark of understanding between them, something deeper than Hank had expected to feel.

It had meant something. Hadn’t it?

He pushed the memory away. It was useless now. 

Well, if he was homeless, he’d just have to go home.

He hadn’t seen his parents for a long, long time. He’d had to make all sorts of excuses while he was blue and then Charles had needed him, Charles had _needed_ and he couldn’t possibly leave, not with Charles like that. He knew that they had missed him although they had never nagged him about visiting more. His parents were always very understanding, sometimes almost too understanding. It felt almost fake, as though they were saying the right things but Hank knew that really, they were judging his decisions, shaking their heads ...

But he had nowhere else to go. And suddenly, the idea of his childhood home was desperately appealing. His old bedroom, the old spaces that he’d always known. His mother’s cooking and his father making the odd little grunts he always made when he was reading his newspaper. Yes, he wanted that. He wanted _safety_.

He caught a bus into town and found a payphone to call. The phone rang for a while and he was half-afraid that nobody would answer but suddenly, he could hear the familiar buzz of his mother’s voice.

“Mom? It’s me, Hank.”

“ _Henry!_ Honey, you haven’t called in a while, we’ve been worried about you!”

“I’m sorry. It’s been busy but ... but I’m making it up. I’m ... I’m coming home.”

“Oh honey, that’s wonderful! When!”

“Um ... as soon as I can. I’m ... I’m leaving now so .... so I’ll let you know when ... when I’m arriving.”

“Honey, is everything all right?”

She sounded so _worried_. So _anxious_. Horrifyingly, Hank felt his eyes filling with tears, felt his voice catching in his throat. He swallowed, desperate not to break down where anybody could see him. Men didn’t cry.

“I just ... need to come home.”

“Okay, honey, you come right on home then.”

She still sounded anxious but there was a touch of something else now, a determination that Hank had heard in his mother’s voice before. She obviously thought that there was something very wrong but she was also intending to sort whatever it was out.

“You call again when you’re close and we’ll meet you wherever you need to be met. I’ll have your bedroom all made up for you. You travel safe now!”

“Mom, I’m a grown up, I can take a plane.”

“I’m your mother, I’m allowed to worry about my baby.”

He had to swallow again before he could say anything else. He had missed his mother. He had missed somebody worrying about _him_.

“I’ll see you and Pop soon.”

“Good. I’ll get in all your favourites.”

Did she still know his favourites? Probably. Had he even changed since he’d been away? Over ten years and he was still the same pathetic little loser that he’d always been, wasn’t he?

He pushed the thoughts away, said goodbye, then hung up the phone and headed to the depot. It was time to begin the journey home and he knew there would be a lot of steps to it. His parents home was not exactly near Westchester and this was going to take a while.

And be expensive. But then, Charles had paid him off, hadn’t he? He might as well take advantage of that.

He was going home.

And after that, he’d decide what he was going to do.

*

He got lucky with the travelling really. Everything fell just about into place. Getting to the airport turned out to be the most difficult bit but once he was there, he was on a flight in short order.

The flight was tedious. He was used to flying his own fast jets, not the more pedestrian passenger flights. There wasn’t really very much space for his long legs and other people were so noisy, even if you had something to focus on. And Hank didn’t really have much – all of his proper books were back at the mansion, there hadn’t been space in the bag. Out of desperation, he’d bought a few books at the airport but he knew they were all going to be awful and he wasn’t surprised when they were. He wanted to sleep but he was too uncomfortable and his mind wouldn’t relax. He kept jumping from one thought to another in a way that almost made him feel seasick. He kept thinking of Charles, of the mansion, of the days when it had been a school and they had been _happy_.

It hadn't been easy. They'd had to rebuild a lot of the place, a difficult job when the only people who lived there was themselves. Alex and Sean had quickly left and once Charles had returned from the hospital, Moira had vanished too. 

It had been a while before Hank had discovered why it was that Moira didn't talk to them any more. Charles hadn't wanted to say for a long, long time and had only blurted out what he'd done months later when he'd had a little too much to drink.

And if Hank had known just how used he'd have to get to that …

He shuddered, trying to push the memories away. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about any of this anymore. What was the point? What was the point of any of it?

When he needed his serum, he dosed himself in the plane bathroom. He gave himself a little extra, something he had never done before but he hoped that it might help him sleep. He couldn't remember when he'd last slept well and he was so _tired_.

But sleep still didn’t come and he ended up sitting awake for the whole flight, his mind churning uncomfortably. He kept thinking of Charles. Was he all right? Was he alone in the mansion? Would he stick to his promises or had he just got rid of Hank as an excuse to go back to the drinking?

It was too awful to contemplate.

When the plane landed, he was glad to get off. It was easier not to think when he had something to do, even if that something was as simple as filing along with other people and finding his bag amongst the others, then make his way out of the airport to catch a bus. Just as long as he didn't have to sit and think - 

“Henry!”

He blinked and stared. His mother and father, standing there, together. They looked so much older than when he'd last seen then but it was _them_ , his mother's white hair caught up in a bun and his father leaning on the stick that he'd been carrying since Hank was ten. They were both smiling and waving at him.

“We thought we'd come and meet you! Mrs Anderson, from the post office, you know, she said that this would be the plane you'd get, we thought we'd come. Your father got a car a year back, she's a real sweet little thing, works well too, there should be space for your legs in there – honey, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Hank said, He hugged her, breathing in the scent of her. She smelt far stronger than she used to and for a moment, he was confused, until he remembered that he was enhanced now. Every person smelt more strongly like themselves than they ever had before.

“Let's get home,” his father said gruffly. He patted Hank's shoulder in the way that he always had, an easy slap. Nobody had patted him like that for a long time, not since working for the CIA in fact. It wasn't Charles's way, it never had been.

The car was a small one, not really suited for his long legs, no matter what his mother said. He huddled in the back of it, hearing his mother's flow of chatter but not really listening to it. It was strange to be driving along roads that he hadn't seen since his childhood. So many things were different or changed or simply gone – and then stranger still were the things that were almost the same. Hank felt as though nothing ought to be as it had been when he had left. It all ought to be something else, the world had changed … and yet here, it hadn't. 

The house was exactly the same. The same white paint on the front, the same roof that sloped in the oddly uneven way that had always puzzled him. The front door was still pale blue and Hank just knew that everything was going to be the same inside too.

His mother opened the door. Hank wondered numbly what had happened to his own key. Did he still have it somewhere, shoved away like a curio? Or had he left it behind because it wasn't important anymore?

It made him feel uncomfortable. Even terrible. He wanted to lie down.

“Here we are,” his mother said brightly. “Now then honey, nobody else is here, you just go ahead and kick your shoes off.”

It took Hank a moment to understand what she meant, a moment to take a step back into time and remember how it had always been something that happened in their house. When he got home and there was nobody but his parents there, his shoes came off. If anybody was there, he kept them on, ignoring the shooting pains from his compressed feet.

He didn't have to do that any more. He hadn't had to do that for nine years.

It had been what he had always wanted. What he had always dreamed of, ever since he was twelve and his feet had begun to expand in the horrifying, abnormal way that nobody else's had.

And now it was nothing. 

“I ... I think I’m going to go to bed,” he mumbled and walked up the stairs before they could say anything else to him.

His room was exactly as he’d left it. The old books on the shelves, the few pictures he’d carefully stuck on the walls still there. His old bed, rickety now, almost childlike.

Hank didn’t care. He collapsed onto it, curled up with an arm over his face and finally crashed into the deep sleep that he’d been longing for.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept for. At some point, his mother was in the room, easing his shoes off, gently pulling his jacket off his shoulders. Hank allowed it, then curled up again as she tucked a blanket over him. It was darker in the room, he knew that so it was probably night now but he didn’t care. Instead, he just let sleep settle over him again until he was woken by his father, who told him he had to come and eat breakfast. Hank obeyed, eating the food without tasting it, then went back to bed. 

It was nearly a week before he found that he could stay out of bed for longer than a few hours. It was as though his brain was resetting itself, trying to wipe everything out by sleeping it away. He knew his parents were worried but also knew they were trying not to show it. They didn’t push him into doing anything except taking the occasional shower before eating. Hank always obeyed them. It was nice, just having to obey. He didn’t have to think about anything except eating and washing and injecting his serum to make sure that his parents didn’t see what he was now.

Even when he was finally out of bed, he found that he didn’t want to do anything. He sat and watched his mother and father living their lives. They didn’t seem to mind. Mom chattered at him as she cooked and cleaned and knitted, catching him up on over a decade of local gossip. His father talked too, talked about the chickens and the garden and about his old job. He seemed to quite like Hank sitting there, listening. Sometimes, he gave Hank things to hold and Hank had a feeling that he was hoping that he’d find the energy to join in.

Hank wasn’t sure he could. Truth be told, he wasn’t quite sure that he’d ever find the energy to do anything ever again. And it was so easy to do nothing here, to just eat and sleep and block his mind off from any thoughts at all.

He was stirred from his lethargy one night as they were talking the television. His father was adjusting the aerial, muttering darkly about the signal and Hank was thinking drearily that he really ought to offer to sort it out, that if he just had some tools, he could give them the best signal in the area but it would involve work and finding things but he really should ...

His father thumped the television and that seemed to work, bringing the picture into focus. The programme appeared to be something about current affairs and Hank was tuning it out in his mind when he caught the word “mutant”, followed almost instantly by a voice that he’d be happy if he never heard again.

Erik.

He had barely been aware of the television cameras at the time. They had been too busy, first trying to find Raven, then trying to stop the Sentinels and Erik at the same time. It had hardly impinged that it was all being filmed, recorded, sent out to the world. Charles had mentioned it vaguely as they’d travelled home but Hank had had far too much else to worry about to even think about the consequences.

Now, suddenly, it was hitting him. Erik’s speech had been seen by the world, Raven’s actions after also. Everyone knew about mutants and they weren’t entirely pleased with what they’d seen.

At least, not all of them. 

His father left the room very abruptly, muttering something about going to checking on the hens. His mother gave a sigh.

“He’s still upset. You know your Pop, he pretends that things don’t upset him but then he feels it so deeply.”

“Feels what?” Hank asked, still staring at the people on the screen, trying to take what they were saying in.

“Honey, we were so scared when we saw all of that on the television. Our own government, making things that might target our baby? And that awful man, going on about brotherhoods ... don’t get me wrong, I’m sure he’s had a bad time of it in his life but attacking the _president_ , I mean honestly, there are some steps ... and those terrible robots! Your father got quite upset, bless him, he kept thinking about you and how you were always so worried about your little problem and now there were robots ...”

“My little problem?” Hank said blankly.

She looked at him for a moment, then moved over and turned the television off before moving over to him and taking his hands in hers.

“Baby, they were only _feet_. Sometimes, I look back and I think we handled it all wrong. I know we couldn’t afford all the shoes you needed but maybe we should have tried to find a way, asked for some help or ... but you didn’t seem to mind and then you got older and I feel as though we made you very sad and then you stopped coming home ... ”

She sounded as though she was going to cry. Hank felt as though he’d swallowed something so cold that it was burning his insides. He gripped her hands.

“Mom, Mom, that was ... that was nothing to do with you, I promise! I was going through some stuff and then, then my friend needed me but I never blamed you for _anything_.”

She sniffed slightly. Hank had a horrible feeling that he was about to see his mom cry. He’d never seen her cry, not ever. She’d always been so tough, so brave, so in control.

“Mom, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I haven’t been home, I’m sorry I’ve not been better, I ... ”

“Honey, you’ve been _fine_ , why would you say that? Lord knows you’ve got to be able to live your own life, you’ve always been a good boy and we always knew that we could trust you. I just hate to think that you might not have been comfortable, that we could have changed things for the better ... ”

“I’m okay,” Hank said thickly. “Mom, I’m okay. I love you. I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t find the words. Mom put her arms around him and he hid his face in his shoulder for a moment, trying not to cry. He didn’t want her to see him cry. He was supposed to be a grown man in his thirties, grown men in their thirties didn’t cry, they were strong and tough and brave ...

“Now, why don’t you go and fetch your father?” Mom said, her voice suddenly sounding quite normal. “You know what he’s like, he’ll be out there for hours with those chickens, muttering about the state of the world today!”

Hank smiled at her. Yeah, that was Pop all over, lurking in the garden when things got to him, working on something until he felt better about things. He got up and walked outside, instantly spotted Pop with the chickens.

He didn’t say anything immediately, he just walked over and helped Pop adjust the posting. For a little while, they worked in silence until Pop gave a sudden expressive snort.

“Damned idiots. Who thought making robots would be a good idea? Attacking our own citizens now. That’s not why we fought in the war!”

“No, Pop,” Hank said quietly.

“Not why I do all this work! Judging people because they’re a little different. Me and the lads, we once knew a guy who could turn his wrist nearly all the way around but does that make him a mutant, huh? Just a bit weird, that’s all! Now, maybe that man with that silly helmet can be a little more destructive and probably he’s a menace to society but in my day, we didn’t tar everyone with the same brush, no sir!”

Hank knew that he ought to gently cut this rant off somewhere and bring his father back into the house but he found that he couldn’t. Hearing his father talking, his father talking about how mutants weren’t awful and terrifying, how despite the fact that he'd seen Erik at his worst on the television, he still didn’t hate him ... it was just wonderful to hear. 

He hadn’t known how much he needed to hear this.

“What ... what if he didn’t look human?”

“You mean like that blue lady?” Pop said. “Now that’s a brave lass, that! Standing up for us all like that. Gotta admire that.”

Hank managed a small laugh.

“What if she’d looked ... weirder. More frightening?”

“You mean like that creature in Paris?”

Hank tried not to cringe. He’d been trying to forget all those cameras, all those people seeing him, him the monster. His parents had seen him as a snarling beast and they hadn’t known it was him.

“Well, you know son, we don’t know what was going on there,” his father said. “I mean, looking at what’s happened now, looks like Lehnsherr was trying to kill that blue girl and that guy was trying to save her. Now, sure looks to me like he was making a good decision for our country. Maybe he’s a little on the ugly side but then, so am I. I’d sure shake that guy by the hand if I met him in the street, let me tell you that for nothing and I’d guess your mother feels the same.”

Hank closed his eyes. They were stinging. He wasn’t going to cry, not in front of his father, he just wasn’t but his eyes hurt, everything suddenly hurt. 

They didn’t hate him. His parents didn’t hate him. They had seen a monster in the newspapers and they didn’t loathe it. Maybe ... maybe they even _understood_.

“Your mother is glaring from the back door,” Pop said. “Best get inside before she gets the washing up bowl. She’s a hard lady.”

“Yeah,” Hank agreed. “Let’s just ... check the chickens are properly shut up.”

“Good lad. Damn birds are too stupid to take care of themselves.”

They gently shooed the birds into their home, then locked the door tight before walking inside. Mom shook her head at both of them in a patient sort of way but she put her arm around Pop and he leaned against her. They were so in love. They always had been.

Hank had always wanted to feel like that. He’d always wanted to have love, someone who was special to him. But he’d always known that it would be hard, he was so weird looking, so different, so ... so not normal.

He’d thought maybe with Raven but he’d ruined that. He’d been so stupid and now she’d vanished again and he might never be able to apologise to her, tell her how wrong he’d been. And then he’d thought ... Charles.

Maybe that had been even stupider.

Charles had come to him drunk, drunk and probably high on something. Hank had never actually seen him take drugs apart from the serum and the serum didn’t have anything that would cause reactions in the brain. But sometimes, he looked into Charles’s eyes and saw the strange stare and he was sure that Charles was doing more than just drinking himself into a stupor.

“My Hank,” Charles had said and his voice was slurred. “You didn’t go. Out of everyone, you stayed with me.”

And he’d slumped down onto Hank’s lap, like that was _normal_ and Hank had felt himself turning crimson with embarrassed surprise. He hadn’t known what to do so he’d patted Charles’s back gently and tried to think of something comforting to say. Charles had curled close, leaned his head on Hank’s shoulder for a while ... then kissed him.

It had been a messy kiss. Clumsy and sloppy and confusing and Charles’s nails had dug into his shoulders and he’d nearly fallen off Hank’s lap but Hank had grabbed him and that had meant Charles was still there, still holding on, still kissing in that wild, wet way and Hank had known he ought to stop it, known he ought to do all sorts of things but oh, oh, it had felt so _good_ and he couldn’t stop it, hadn’t wanted it to stop it so he hadn’t and Charles and thrust his hand into his trousers and God, it had felt so _good_.

Afterwards, he’d felt embarrassed, ashamed, expected Charles to pretend that it had never happened. But Charles had looked at him with shadowed eyes and quietly said that it had made him feel, made him feel _alive_ and would Hank be willing, maybe, just maybe to let Charles hold onto him again and God, how could Hank ever have said no to a request like that?

He should never have let it happen. How could he not have seen it would only make things worse? How could he not have realised that he was the kind of fool who would fall in love and that someone like Charles could never possibly want someone like him?

Not permanently anyway.

Well, it didn’t matter now. He couldn’t let it matter now. He had to just get on with things.

The next day, he got himself up and dressed and went to the bank to find out exactly how much money he had. The amount almost made him choke. Charles had been as good as his word. Hank now had more money than he’d ever imagined earning in his whole life, even when he was designing things for the CIA.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He supposed in many ways, he _had_ earned it. Helping Charles hadn’t been exactly easy. They’d talked about money when they’d set up the school, discussed a salary but when the school had closed, they’d never mentioned it again and somewhere in Charles’s downward spiral, he had given Hank control of his bank accounts so Hank had barely thought about his own money after that.

But he hadn’t done any of the things he’d done with Charles for the money. He hadn’t stayed because he’d expected money.

He didn’t want to think about it. It wasn’t as though he could send the money back after all. He might as well just use it for ...

What did he want to use it for?

How could he have so little idea of what he wanted to do? 

He supposed it was because he’d never wanted money at all. He’d never cared about what he might earn, only about what he could do. He loved _making_ things. Creating them. He’d never been happier than when he’d been deep in something, staring at the different bits, trying to make them fit together. He’d loved trying to put together the plane for Agent Platt almost more than he’d loved the approval when it had clearly been successful. There had been something exciting and glorious about trying to put the serum together – 

– and perhaps that was why it had gone so wrong. He’d been so eager, so hopeful, so in love with his own cleverness ... no wonder he had rushed into it. No wonder he had tried it before it was really ready.

Maybe if he’d been less excited about helping himself – and later, about helping Charles – he’d have been able to see the dark path that he was going to set them both down.

He hadn’t let himself really think before about how little he’d actually helped Charles in the past years. He’d let Charles do anything that he’d wanted. Oh, he’d been sad, he’d nagged but when Charles had asked, when Charles had begged, he’d always given in until this last time when he’d known that Charles had promised Logan.

He’d needed someone else to really push him into stopping Charles’s self-destruction.

Not for the first time, Hank realised that he wasn’t sure that he liked himself very much. 

Some of these realisations must have shown on his face because he received a look of anxiety from his mother almost the moment that he opened the door. He tried to smile but knew it was coming out wrong.

“What’s wrong, my honey? Don’t you have much in the bank? Cause you know that we’ll support you – ”

“N-no, I’m ...I’m really rich actually, my last employer was ... generous.”

“Well, I would hope so really after all that time!”

His mother sounded very slightly aspic and Hank bit the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t considered what his parents might think of Charles. They knew his name, of course and had spoken to him sometimes, mostly back in the early days when they had wanted to know for sure that their son was fine. Hank had supposed that they found him as charming and polite as everybody did. 

“He ... he was very kind,” he mumbled, suddenly not sure what he wanted his parents to think of Charles now. 

“I would very much hope so, my sweet. So you’re rich? Well, don’t you go wasting that money on anything silly now!”

“I’m not going to,” Hank said. “I don’t ... do you need anything? I ... could buy it.”

“Oh now, baby, you know that we do not want to be taking your money from you. Your Pop and I have managed very well, we don’t really need money.”

“Yeah but ... I have it and ... I don’t really want it.”

His mother gave him one of her looks.

“Well then, honey, what _do_ you want?”

Hank bowed his head. It was not a question that he wanted to hear from her, not when he was so busy thinking it himself. He wanted an answer and it just ... there wasn’t one. He shrugged his shoulders slightly.

“I ... I don’t ... I mean ... ”

“I mean, how rich is rich?” Mom said, her voice taking on the brisk tone that it often did when she’d decided to organise. “You could start your own business if you liked, if you’ve got enough. Your own laboratory to do any of those things that you always wanted to make. You could move someplace else if you wanted, we’d both understand if you wanted to get to some other place that will help you out.”

“I ... don’t know.”

Why didn’t he know? Why couldn’t he think of anything? Why was it that every time he thought about moving or building something or finding a new job, all he could think of was the mansion? The lab and the corridors and his little room. 

Of Charles.

“Well, you can stay here as long as you’re thinking about it, honey,” Mom said. There was an odd tone in her voice, one Hank wasn’t sure about. 

“I ... I could take you and Pop on holiday, if you want. I can afford that easily. Is there anywhere the two of you have ever really wanted to go? We can do it, I can fly you there first class and everything.”

“Oh, you know your Pop, he’s not a traveller ... ”

“Just think about it,” Hank said. He liked the idea of taking them somewhere interesting. If his parents wanted it, he could go along and he wouldn’t have to think, wouldn’t have to worry about it. They could just go and he’d know they were enjoying it and that would be something useful. Something ... decent.

“Okay honey. I’ll think. I _have_ always wanted to see some of the sights ... ”

His mother looked a bit wistful and Hank was sure that she’d think of somewhere wonderful to go before the day was out. That made him feel a little bit better about it all. At least there would be something that they could do with the money now. Something good.

He went upstairs and checked his supply of serum. He was very nearly out and would need to make some more soon. Could he do it without a proper lab? Probably – he did know what he was doing these days, after all. And he’d always been rather good at making things in the basement lab that he’d made for him – assuming that it was still there.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised to discover that it was. Everything was dusty and messy and there were a lot of out-dated bits of equipment that Hank wouldn’t dream of using these days but it was there. 

It made him smile to see it all again. It was pleasingly familiar. More familiar in a way that his bedroom had been, despite the fact that it had been just as unchanged. His life had often been in this dark, dingy little home-made lab. Some days at school, all he’d been able to think of was how much he wanted to get back down into this place and settle down, working on something. Mom had bought him a chemistry set when he was seven and Hank didn’t think that he’d ever looked back from that.

Science had been his saviour. Science had been what had kept him going through everything. When children had laughed at him, refused to talk to him, when they’d picked on him, when his feet had been throbbing with agony because his shoes were two sizes too small ... he’d always known that the lab was there for him. That if he got the experiments right, it would all come and make sense. All be logical and simple. Science was _real_ and science made sense in a way that people never had.

He’d always thought that he made sense and it was the rest of the world that was bizarre and illogical. But maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe he was just as bizarre and illogical as everybody else.

Hank wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

Charles would know. Charles would be able to tell him exactly how he felt and why. Or at least, the old Charles would have done.

Who was Charles now? _What_ was he?

It was as though all the thoughts that he’d repressed during his arrival here were coming out in full force and Hank didn’t know what to make any of any of them. He didn’t like them. He wanted it all to stop and he didn’t know what to do.

“Son?”

Pop was standing at the top of the stairs, smiling. Hank managed a smile back.

“Hey. Did, um, did Mom talk to you about a holiday?”

“She did. I’m sure we’ll let you treat us to somewhere nice. But you know, I’m not really the type to wander. I’ve lived in this place all my life and I’m going to die here and that’s always been enough for me.”

“I ... I know that.” Hank didn’t want his father to talk about dying. He might not have seen them for a very long time but it didn’t mean that he didn’t love them. Didn’t mean that he was ready for them to leave.

“Enough for your mother too,” Pop continued, walking into the basement, looking at Hank’s bench. “We’re that kind of people. Some people are happy where they are, happy to stay and that’s okay. Some people need to move on. Need to go someplace else to find their joy.”

Hank didn’t say anything. He stared at the bench too, looking at some of the burn marks. He remembered the origin of every single one of them. Every single experiment that had gone wrong, every single one that had been spilt or muddled.

“You, son, we always knew that this not the right place for you,” Pop said, his voice calm. “Your happiness was – _is_ – never going to be in this town. You were going to go someplace else and we never minded that. We miss you, yes, but that’s all right. Parents _should_ miss their children, as long as their children have gone someplace good.”

“I ... um ... ”

To Hank’s horror, he felt tears in his eyes. He quickly turned away, hoping he could pretend that it was the dust. His father patted his shoulder.

“Son, all your mother and I want is to see you happy. That’s all anybody who cares about you wants. All right?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah.”

“If that was staying here, we’d welcome it. But if it’s working somewhere else or travelling or getting yourself a ... a partner ... than that’s all fine with us too. As long as you’re happy. As long as you know what you want.”

Hank turned around. He had not missed that pause before his father had said “partner.” Did his parents _know?_ Had they realised about him and Charles? No, surely not. How could they possibly? How could anybody know?

“You think about that now,” Pop said, sounding a little awkward. “We’re here for you, son.”

He gave Hank’s shoulder one last pat and then turned and walked out of the room. Hank sat down on the bench, not caring about the dust. He needed to think. He needed to put things together, needed to make it all make sense but he didn’t know how. Nothing was how he expected it to be any more.

Science. He needed to get this place cleaned up and he needed to make some new serum. If the science still made sense, everything else would still make sense too.

He had to believe that.

*

His parents didn’t ask any questions about the deliveries that arrived at the house in the next few days. They’d never really asked him anything about his science experiments, except when they’d made terrible smells – then they’d told him to stop that and do something else. They clearly thought it was just Hank’s thing and he was happy with that.

Making the serum in a small, dark place was very different from doing it in a bright, glossy lab. He wasn’t quite sure that the first batch was entirely right and so he threw it away and started again – he’d learned from that mistake, he would not make it again.

He had developed in that way, at least.

He found that now, from sleeping almost constantly, he was finding it incredibly hard to drop off. He was lying there, tossing and turning, his mind filled with things that he didn’t seem able to push away. He thought about working for the CIA and how Platt had been so kind to him. He thought about Raven, how quickly he’d fallen for her and how badly he had somehow done. He thought about Alex and Sean, how he’d been afraid of them, then how he’d liked them and then how he’d missed them. He had been sorry that they had left, always hoped that they might come back ... and then Sean had been killed.

He thought about Trask. Had nightmares about him, in fact. About being captured, about being taken, about being tortured. About seeing Raven taken and tortured, seeing Charles taken and tortured. Sometimes, he woke up, hearing Charles’s screams so loudly in his head that he half-thought that Charles had to be there, that he was back in the mansion and everything was as it had been ...

But no. No, he was home and the mansion was miles away. It wasn’t where he was now. Trask was in jail somewhere and mutants appeared to be earning some strange sort of respect in the eyes of some people. Mutant rights was in the news all the time, discussions of anonymous mutant abilities, about people just wanting to live quietly in society. 

Knowing that ought to have been helping Hank sleep at night and yet somehow, it wasn’t.

Maybe it was because he missed having Charles at his side. Charles had always been so warm, so cuddly. On bad nights, he would hang onto Hank as though Hank might slip away, on good nights, he would just lie there, head on Hank’s shoulder, his breath coming in little snuffles. Hank hadn’t realised that he’d got used to that. Hadn’t realised how much it had mattered to him. That however alone he’d felt in the day, he’d known that at night, Charles would be there and he could feel that it was okay just because of that.

He hated that he missed Charles so much. Charles had sent him away. Charles hadn’t wanted him any longer. Charles was probably fine now, probably had some nurse that was doubtless beautiful and Charles was probably flirting with her every day, probably finding new love somewhere, better love than something unnatural with a man ...

He’d been afraid of that idea. Afraid that they might be caught, arrested, charged. It wasn’t so common now but it could happen and that terrified him. He’d tried to talk to Charles about it but Charles had given him such a strange look.

“What does it matter, Hank? Nobody is here, nobody knows. Nobody cares.”

And that was all that he had said. Hank hadn’t dared say anything else about it. He supposed Charles was right – or had been then. Maybe that was why he’d sent Hank away now. To find something normal now that he thought he could live a different life ...

Now that Hank could live a different life?

He wasn’t sure what to think of that when it came into his mind. He didn’t like to think that Charles was doing this for him. It was too complicated. Too hard to put together with everything else. It would be so much easier if he could just ... hate.

But he couldn’t. Charles had been a good friend. Always been a good friend. He had changed Hank’s life. How could Hank hate somebody who had changed his life? It wasn’t Charles’s fault that everything had gone wrong, not really... not exactly ...

“You look so thin,” his mother fretted. “Henry, baby, you have to eat more. You’re such a big man now, you need to feed yourself up.”

“I’m fine,” Hank said automatically. “I promise.”

His mother just sighed and shrugged her shoulders. Hank hated that he was worrying her. He didn’t want to make her feel bad. They were taking care of him well, looking after him closely and that was, right now, one of the only things that he felt safe about. One of the only things that felt secure.

He found it easier to leave the house now; to take long walks when he wasn’t working on the serum. The familiar landscape helped soothe his mind sometimes, as did the walking, the regular movement. Sometimes, he found that he half-wished that he could transform, go running as fast as the Beast part of him could run but that was a foolish dream. A stupid dream.

He was out on one of his walks when someone called his name.

“It _is_ Henry McCoy, isn’t it?”

“Everyone calls me Hank now,” he said, staring at the woman and trying to put a name to the face. There was something about her that was familiar but he wasn’t quite sure that he could place it. She smiled.

“My name’s Ann. Do you remember me? I was Ann William then.”

Oh. Yes, he did remember her. She hadn’t exactly been awful to him in school but she certainly hadn’t helped him. He remembered her as pretty and haughty, one of the people who really considered that somebody like him was just invisible. He was a little surprised that she would greet him, that she would be friendly.

“How are you?” he asked, trying not to sound too awkward.

“I’m quite well, thank you. I got married you know, I ... are you well?”

There was something about the way she was talking to him that immediately made Hank realise that she wanted something from him. He wished she’d just get on with asking him rather than go through all the polite rigmarole. How could someone like Ann William – or whatever she was called now – really want to know about him?

“I’m fine,” he said, aware that he sounded short and realising that he didn’t care. Ann blinked a little, then swallowed.

“I’m ... I’m sorry, I know this must seem ... I heard you’re a doctor, now?”

“Yes.”

“I ... I wondered if you could come and have a look at my daughter?”

Hank stared at her for a moment, then shook his head.

“I’m not that kind of doctor. You’ve misunderstood.”

“No, I haven’t,” Ann said, sounding a little pleading. “I ... I know you’re not a medical doctor but ... but I think you might be ... able to help her anyway ... ”

Hank blinked, not sure what she could possibly mean for a long moment Then it suddenly occurred to him and he shook his head, trying not to get panicked.

“I ... I really don’t think ... I’m sorry, you’ve ... ”

“Please.” Her voice was low. “You’ve always been different, I know that, we ... maybe ... please? I don’t know what to say to her.”

“And you think I do because I’m a freak?!”

He didn’t mean for his voice to raise like that. Ann flinched and Hank felt ashamed. He didn’t shout at people, he wasn’t that kind of person. He was a polite boy, he was nice and he didn’t speak to people in that way. 

“I’m sorry,” Ann whispered. “I’m ... I just thought ...” 

She turned to walk away, her shoulders slumped. Hank looked at her, suddenly reminded of when he and Charles had been saying goodbye to the students when the school had closed. He remembered the final one to leave, walking slowly down the drive, shoulders slumped in a similar way. Charles had looked pale and wretched as he watched.

“He thinks he has nowhere to go,” he’d said, his voice dull. “No one to rely on any more. Maybe he’s right. Maybe everything does just fall apart.”

Hank had told him not to be foolish. That everything would be fine, of course it would. But Charles had just turned away and nothing had been fine, nothing at all for ever so long.

Ann looked like that.

“No,” he said quickly. “No, I ... of course I’ll speak with your daughter, if you want me to. But I don’t know if I’ll say the things that you want me to. I don’t know if it’ll be quite what you hope.”

She turned back to him looking so relieved that it was almost embarrassing. Hank found that he was regretting it already, his heart heavy. But he couldn’t change his mind now. He followed, wondering exactly what he was supposed to say. How was he supposed to say anything? He’d never been good at this ...

No, that wasn’t true. He’d enjoyed talking to the children when the school had been open. At first, he’d been as awkward with them as he was with anybody else but slowly, he’d worked it out. Children were easier than adults really. They didn’t tend to judge you in the same way. In fact, they had often admired him, seemed to think he was something to look up to. They didn’t think he was ridiculous and clumsy. After a few initial fears, they hadn’t even been worried by his blue form. 

“What’s her name?” he asked.

“Emily,” Ann said. “She’s a good girl, she’s a very good girl but she’s just ... she’s getting older now and ... people don’t understand.”

Hank nodded. He didn’t ask what the mutation was. Emily would tell him herself, he was sure of that.

Ann took him into the house and upstairs. There was a girl sitting at a desk, her hair falling in front of her face. She had thick glasses on. When Ann tapped on the door to announce their presence, she scowled.

“I don’t need another doctor, Mom.”

“I’m not that kind of doctor,” Hank said before Ann could speak. “I am a doctor though, Doctor McCoy. Hey Emily. Your mother says you’re a bit different.”

Emily scowled harder. Hank remembered children who had responded to Charles like that, back in the days. Children who had been used to trying to hide, who had been suspicious until Charles had extended the hand of friendship, showed them that they weren’t alone. 

“I’m a bit different too so your Mom thinks I might understand,” he said. “She didn’t say how you were different though. Is it something you can show me without making anything go horribly wrong?”

Emily shrugged her shoulders. She looked doubtful, as though she was expecting Hank to laugh. Hank wished he could tell her that there was nobody less likely to laugh than him. He knew. He knew what it was like.

“You can trust me.”

“People always say that,” Emily said. “They always say you can trust them and then they’re _mean_.”

And hadn’t Hank experienced that himself? So many people insisted that they would help you, be kind to you and then snatched it away. He swallowed and tried not to make it obvious.

“I know. I know they do but I promise that I won’t be mean. I won’t laugh or say anything nasty. I only want to ... to help if I can.”

Emily abruptly turned her back on him. For a moment, Hank thought he was being dismissed and was about to leave but then, Emily wriggled and then suddenly, Hank could see a long, pink tail. It curled and whipped, rather like a furless cat’s might. Emily twisted her head to look at him and Hank knew that she was waiting for him to laugh or say something cruel.

“That’s impressive,” he said he instead. “Is it prehensile?”

“What?” 

“Can you grip things with it?”

Emily looked rather surprised. Then her tail whipped out and snatched a pen off the desk, waving it around easily. Hank grinned.

“Seems useful to me.”

“It’s ugly,” Emily said. “It’s nasty and people will laugh. I can’t do gym any more now it’s grown but everyone teases me because of that and the teachers get cross and it’s not _fair._ ”

“I know,” Hank said quietly. “I know just what you feel like. I don’t think it’s ugly. I think it’s something special and useful and different. Something that you can use to make your life better, maybe even easier in the end. Other people won’t understand, not all the time – but some of them will. Have you been watching the TV lately?”

Emily paused, then she nodded her head.

“So you know you aren’t alone?” Hank said.

“That blue woman,” Emily said. “She was so cool. Do you think people made fun of her in school?”

“Yes,” Hank said, his stomach twisting. “I think a lot of people were very cruel to her because she looked different. And I think she decided not to worry about that. She decided to be the best person that she could possibly be and learned to think that no matter what people said, her blue skin was really beautiful.”

It wasn’t quite how Raven would have told her story, he was sure of that. But he thought that it was good enough, close enough that she wouldn’t be entirely displeased by what he’d said. And Emily’s eyes were beginning to spark, just a little, almost eagerly. 

“You think I could be like her when I grow up?”

“I think you could be just as brave as she is,” Hank said. “And you know, there’s a lot of people like her out there. More than you’d think. I ... I have a friend who plans to start a school where people can go if they want to be around other mutants.”

He hadn’t really meant to say mutant. It was a charged word, one that he thought might not actually work well. But Emily looked even more pleased.

“Mom, can I go to that school?”

“It’s not open yet,” Hank said quickly, not wanting to put Ann in a difficult position. “You’ll have to wait a while. But when it is, I promise I’ll let your Mom know straight away, okay? In the meantime, you practise using that tail. See what you can pick up with it. But be careful, don’t damage anything.”

“Okay,” Emily said, sounding genuinely happy. “If you like.”

Hank looked around and saw Ann discreetly dabbing at her eyes. He gulped, hoping they were good tears and not bad ones. He had done his best but he knew that sometimes wasn’t good enough.

“Well, I’d better go,” he said. “My mother is expecting me home. It was nice to meet you, Emily.”

“Doctor McCoy what can _you_ do?”

He blinked at the question, then shrugged his shoulders.

“I turn into a big furry blue creature with fangs.”

“ _You_ were _that_ guy?!”

He’d almost forgotten that if Emily was interested in the coverage, she might have seen his photo too. Blushing, Hank nodded his head, half-expecting Emily to shy back from him. Instead, she grinned even more.

“You were so cool!”

Hank had imagined people saying all sorts of things about the mutated form that he had these days. Never once in a million years had he ever imagined that someone would describe it as _cool_.

“Thank you,” he managed and then left, aware that he could hear Emily using her tail to try and pick up the pen again. He looked anxiously at Ann and sighed with relief when she smiled at him.

“Thank you,” she said. “I ... I knew you were the right person to talk to her.”

“I know it’ll be hard for her,” Hank said quietly. “I wasn’t lying about the school but it’ll be in Westchester so quite far away and her mutation is small, not uncontrolled. Maybe people here will accept it?”

“Maybe,” Ann said. She sounded surprisingly hopeful. “People are better than they were when we were children, aren’t they?”

Were they? Hank wasn’t so sure. He wanted to _believe_ that they were but at the same time ... if Emily walked out now with her tail on display, how many people would point and jeer? How many people would throw things at her? Less perhaps than previously but could Raven’s actions really change things so dramatically?

He wasn’t sure that they could. He wasn’t sure that anything could. 

But it was a lovely idea.

“Let me know about the school,” Ann said. “Just in case. Is your friend a good man?”

“Yes,” Hank said quietly. “He’s one of the greatest men I’ve ever known.”

He spent the walk home hoping that what he’d said was true. How did he know that Charles was even still alive? He hadn’t spoken to him for weeks. Charles had seemed better but then, Charles had seemed better before and then Hank would find him curled up in his own vomit somewhere, grey and shivering and filled with apologies. Maybe he was back in the mansion, drunk and helpless. Maybe he was dead because Hank wasn’t there. How did Hank _know?_

He couldn’t get the image out of his head all through the rest of the evening, although he tried to conceal his fear from his parents. Charles had sent him away, anything that happened wasn’t his fault and yet ... yet what if? What if Charles was dead? What would they do without him? What would Hank do without him?

It was ridiculous. Of course Charles wasn’t dead. Perhaps he’d even managed to carry on without drink, perhaps he’d hired that nurse. Probably he was absolutely fine without Hank. Probably didn’t even miss him. Out of all the people Charles had lost, Hank had been the only one he’d deliberately sent away – apart from Moira.

Hank wasn’t sure that that thought made him feel very much better.

He tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep, unable to get Charles’s face out of his mind. In the end, he scrambled to his feet and padded silently out of his room, not letting himself think. He took the phone from its cradle and dialled the number of the mansion, his stomach squirming. 

Ring. What if there was no answer? Ring. What would he do? Ring. Would he have to assume the worst? Call the police? How many times should he let the phone ring before – 

“Hello?”

Charles sounded groggy and Hank thought for a second he might be sick, until it occurred to him just how late it was. He’d probably woken Charles up, it didn’t have to be anything else, anything worse. His breath seemed to lock in his throat. 

“Hello?” Charles said again and he sounded clearer now, more himself. Hank swallowed, fighting for words, realising that he didn’t even know what he wanted to say. This was a stupid idea. He shouldn’t have called, what had he been thinking, he ought to just hang straight up – 

“No, please don’t hang up!” Charles said, almost as though he was reading Hank’s mind from all this way away. “Please, I ... Raven? Erik? H-hank?”

“Am I always going to be last?”

He didn’t quite mean the words to actually come out of his mouth but somehow, they did. He heard a tiny shuddering breath and swallowed, not sure if he was glad he’d spoken or not.

“No,” Charles said. “No, that’s not what I mean, not at all, I ... oh Hank, Hank, how _are_ you?”

“I’m fine, no thanks to you.”

Why was he saying these things? Why was he being so cruel? Only minutes ago, he’d been tortured by the idea that Charles might be dead and now ...

“I’m ... sorry,” Charles said, his voice low. “I’m really ... I ... I’m glad to hear from you. Did you ... did you need something? Can I do anything?”

Hank didn’t know what to say. So many answers were seething in his head, confusing him. Could Charles do anything for him? Why would Charles even ask that?

“I’ve ... I’m doing all right,” Charles said, apparently unable to bear the silence. “I’m fine, it’s ... not been a problem. Well, it has but ... I hired a nurse, her name’s Anita, she’s very nice, you’d like her. Not at all sympathetic!”

Hank found himself smiling a little. Charles had always preferred people who weren’t filled with sympathy whenever they saw him. He’d discharged himself early from the hospital because he hadn’t been able to bear the waves of pity that he’d heard. If this Anita wasn’t pitying him, she was probably doing rather well.

“I won’t need her for long, I hope,” Charles said saying. “I’m hoping ... I’m learning to manage by myself. I’m trying to make plans to make the school. Luckily, our ... _your_ work hasn’t all gone to waste.”

His work. His plans. His dreams.

“Hank, I ... I don’t know what you want me to say but I’m sorry. I’m sorry for it all and you don’t have to accept that, you don’t have to do anything but I _am_ glad to have heard your voice. I hope you ... you stay all right and you know, you know there’s always a place here for you if you want it. I’ll understand if you never want to see me again – ”

“Did you ever love me?”

The silence seemed to stretch between them. It felt as though it lasted for hours, even though logically, Hank knew it was only a few seconds before Charles spoke, his voice low.

“Yes, Hank. Yes, I love you.”

Hank hung up the phone. It was a ridiculous, childish thing to do but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He stared at it as if it had turned into a snake, coiled up, waiting to strike but it didn’t ring or in fact, do anything at all. It just sat there.

Why wasn’t he happy? Charles loved him, he’d wanted that, he’d longed for that ... but then why had Charles sent him away? All he’d wanted to do was stay and Charles, Charles had _hurt_ him.

And it hadn’t been the first time. All the things that had happened ...

His father’s words suddenly came back to his head. 

_Some people are happy where they are, happy to stay and that’s okay. Some people need to move on._

A different context. A different type of love. But maybe it was still applicable. Maybe Charles really had sent him away so that Hank could try to decide what he wanted from life without Charles affecting the choice one way or another. Maybe ... maybe it was ... good.

Suddenly, he was exhausted. Stumbling up the stairs, he fell into his bed and curled up, falling into a deeper sleep than he’d managed in weeks. He dreamed of Charles, Charles in the mansion garden, laughing as Hank tried to fix the fountain. It was hard because Hank was in his Beast-form and his hands didn’t seem to want to grip. Suddenly, there were soap suds everywhere but Charles didn’t seem to mind. He tugged Hank down to him and kissed his fanged mouth and Hank woke up knowing where he belonged.

*

His parents didn’t seem terribly surprised when he told them that he was going to be leaving soon.

“Just come and visit us more often this time,” his mother ordered. “That’s all I ask, honey. Disappearing off the face of the earth, it’s just not right. Where will you be going?”

“I’ll ... be going back to Charles. He’s setting up a school and ... and I want to be ... there.”

His mother sniffed and turned away. Hank blinked, wondering if that was some sort of disapproval. She liked Charles, didn’t she? 

“I ... I know it’s not ... but I’ll have a lab, I can do any experiments that I want, anything ... I can keep my hand in, I’m not letting you down ... ”

“Oh honey. Honey, that’s not ... you’re not ...” 

She was crying, Hank realised with horror. Crying quietly. He jumped up and moved over to her, putting his arms awkwardly around her. She had been shorter than him since he was twelve years old but she felt smaller than she ever had before somehow. He cuddled her, frantically trying to find soothing words.

“Is ... is there ... should I stay? I’ll stay if you need me ... ”

“No, pet. No. You ... you should go and spread those wings of yours, be a good and strong man that I always knew that you would be. I just ... you’ve been ... I want you to be happy and I want you to be all right and I know you worry but we’ll be fine about anything, your father and I just want you to live your life ... ”

“I ... y-yeah,” Hank said “I will, I’ll ... and I’ll call more and come back and, and you can come to the school if you want ... ”

“Oh yes, honey, I’d like that. I’d like to meet your Charles.”

Hank felt a wave of heat wash over his face. He looked away uncertainly, trying not to fidget. He ought to say that Charles wasn’t “his” Charles but the words wouldn’t come because he didn’t want them to. He wanted Charles to be _his_ , he wanted Charles to be only his. And he knew that would never happen, not with Charles, Charles would always belong to other people too and that was okay but ... but he wanted to be ... special.

Hi mother patted his chest gently. Hank wondered what she was thinking. He thought again about his father’s clumsy words. Did they know about him and Charles? Did they just suspect?

If he were only a little braver, he was sure that he would ask. But he wasn’t quite brave enough for that yet, not when he didn’t even know what was going to happen.

Next time. Next time, he’d be brave enough.

“It’ll be fine, Mom. I’ll be fine. And you know, we’ll still go on that holiday, okay? You and Pop keep thinking and I’ll take you somewhere amazing.”

“That would be nice, honey. Very nice.”

She smiled at him, tears dried. Hank smiled back, loving her deeply.

“I’d better go and tell Pop it’s safe to come back in. You know what he’s like about feelings!”

“You men,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know why I bother.”

“Oh, we’re not all like that,” Hank said, thinking about Charles. “Not at all.”

*

It was strange, leaving home again.

The first time, his parents had seen him off with a fanfare, a great amount of fuss. Hank had been fifteen, young, terrified and yet desperate to get away. He didn’t want to be in this place any more. University would be different, better, he just knew it. Everybody would like him, respect him, be pleased at how clever he was. He’d said goodbye to his parents but it had almost been perfunctory, just wanting to get away.

Of course, it hadn’t been that way. He’d still been an outcast, still been disliked and ridiculed. But he had survived. Platt had found him. 

And then Charles had found him.

This time, his parents were far more casual about saying goodbye.

“Come home soon, son,” Pop said, patting his shoulder. “Make sure you don’t leave it too long.”

“We’ll come and see you!” Mom said, giving him a quick hug. “I’m looking forward to seeing that school! My son, a teacher!”

She didn’t tell him that his room would always be there for him. She didn’t need to. Hank knew it was true, even without her saying it. As long as they were alive, his parents would always be waiting for him.

He was luckier than some of the people that he knew.

This time, the flight was actually quite relaxing. He read and looked out of the window at the world beneath him, wondering how many mutants lived below. How many of them had watched and rewatched Raven’s actions. How many of them were hoping that their talents might be recognised, their oddities legitimised.

How many of them would jump at the chance to come to a school run by a telepath?

He hadn’t told Charles that he was coming. Perhaps that was foolish of him but somehow, he hadn’t been able to pick up the phone again. A tiny part of him was afraid, afraid that Charles would say that he hadn’t meant it, that he didn’t want him to come back and Hank knew it was time. Knew that it was the right thing to do.

Besides, it had been over a month.

The mansion looked almost the same – although he saw that the private sign had been removed from the gate. It made Hank smile to see it was gone, that Charles was open to seeing visitors again. A gardener had clearly been hired too – the path had been weeded, some of the bushes trimmed back. It looked a little more controlled now, a little more contained. The fountain was not working but it was cleared of all the weeds and algae that had grown there.

It looked far more like the place that Hank had first arrived at back in 1962.

He had the key in his pocket. Slowly, he took it out and opened the door, feeling the familiar wood under his hands. He’d often been opening this door with a feeling of trepidation, worried that Charles might have done something while he was out, might have had an accident, hurt himself, worse ... and then the relief whenever he hadn’t, the hope that this time, it would all be different, the prayer that one day, it would all be okay ...

He put his bag down by the door and walked slowly through the hall, trying to work out where Charles might be. It was a sunny day ... perhaps he was in the garden? 

_Hank?_

A voice in his mind, a voice filled with hope. A flash before his eyes, Charles in the study, a _tidy_ study, all the bottles and blankets and dirty glasses gone, the books organised the way they once had been, not just shoved shambollically in anywhere ...

Hank didn’t quite run there. But almost. He pushed the door open and Charles was there in his wheelchair and he had time to say “ _Hank_ – ” before Hank was on his knees and kissing him.

Charles’s mouth was warm under his. He tipped his head up toward Hank’s, his hands coming up to grip at Hank’s shirt. His mouth tasted of nothing except warmth and the odd taste that was himself. No alcohol. Nothing.

Charles.

He dipped his tongue into Charles’s mouth, savouring it, shuddering at the familiar feeling of licking the inside of Charles’s lip and the way Charles moaned and arched into him, the way he always had when kissed like that. His hair was soft and clean under Hank’s hands and when Hank gently squeezed the back of his neck, Charles groaned.

_Hank, darling, much as I would like to carry on, Anita is about to come around the corner and I would prefer she didn’t actually catch us in the act._

Oh yes. There was actually someone else here. Hank slowly pulled back and stood up, his legs wobbling slightly. He wanted nothing more than to grab Charles and kiss him again, keep kissing him until Charles couldn’t possibly say anything else, couldn’t possibly bring in any other interruptions. 

“Mr Xavier, someone came in – oh.”

“Anita, this is Hank McCoy, the friend that was living with me before,” Charles said, his voice sounding quite normal. “He’s come back to ... ” 

“To stay,” Hank said firmly. “I’ve come home.”

Charles didn’t say anything. But Hank felt a flicker in his mind, a flicker like fireworks exploding, a feeling of pure, utter _joy_.

Anita shook his hand very politely, smiling at him. He’d been right, she was very beautiful.

_She’s my nurse and she’s very professional. And trust me, I’m not going to sleep with her. She’d spend the whole time telling me that I was doing it wrong!_

He managed not to laugh at Charles’s commentary. Instead, he collected his bag and went to his room to unpack. It was just how he’d left it, messy and confused and _his_.

He was _home_.

The rest of the day was an exercise in frustration. He wanted Anita to leave, wanted it to be just him and Charles but he didn’t think it would be fair to ask her to leave and Charles clearly didn’t intend to. Anita showed him around, showing him things that had been altered to make things easier for Charles since he’d left, showing him how those things were to be used. Obviously a lot of work had been put into fixing things up. Charles came with them, letting Anita talk, a peaceful smile on his face. He had cut his hair and shaved off his beard and was wearing a shirt that was clean. He no longer had the hollow look to his eyes, was clearly paying attention to what was happening around him.

He was himself again.

When Anita finally left, Hank nearly sagged with relief. He heard Charles laugh softly behind him.

“Poor Hank. She’s nice, you know. Just what I needed really, someone who would make me pull my socks up a bit.”

“Not like me then.”

He turned and saw Charles look away, a look of shame on his face. Hank wanted to take a step closer but suddenly, he felt frozen. His guilt felt almost heavy on him.

“It wasn’t your fault, Hank,” Charles said quietly.

“Wasn’t it?” Hank asked. “I should have been ... harder on you. I should have _made_ you get better.”

“You can’t make someone get better, Hank. You couldn’t have forced me. In the end, it had to be me who did that. None of this was your fault, I want you to accept that. We both did what we felt we had to do. I don’t want ... I don’t want you to feel guilty.”

Hank wasn’t sure what to say. He _did_ feel guilty and he wasn’t sure that that guilt would ever entirely ease. He had let Charles down. But then, Charles had let him down too, let him down in all sorts of ways. He suspected that Charles’s own guilt about that would never entirely ease either.

Maybe that was okay.

“I missed you,” he said.

“I missed you too,” Charles said, his voice wobbling. “Oh Hank, I missed you so much, I ... was I wrong? To send you away?”

“No,” Hank said. “No. You weren’t. But I’m home now. I’m home and I want to be ... I want to stay.”

“Then you can stay,” Charles said simply and he held out his hands.

This second kiss was far more gentle than the first had been. Hank leaned carefully over him, just letting their lips brush against each other. Charles’s lips were soft now, no longer chapped as they had been a few months ago. When he reached up to touch Hank’s hair, his hand felt solid, secure. None of the shakes that Hank hadn’t realised he’d got used to. None of the oddness.

He kissed with a little more strength, stroking his hand down the back of Charles’s neck, feeling the buzz of recently cut hair. He heard Charles give a soft sigh and then hands touched his shoulders, gripping them. Hank felt a surge rush through him and knew he was about to transform. He didn’t fight it, although he pulled back a little, making sure that he didn’t hurt Charles as his body thickened and grew and the fur fluffed all over him.

He’d almost missed being in this form.

 _I’ve missed it too_ Charles’s voice was soft in his mind as he tugged Hank down to kiss him again, apparently not at all worried by the fangs and the fur. _Some nights I’ve hardly been able to sleep for wanting you to be here. Oh Hank, my Hank, I missed you so much ... you know that I can’t do what we used to? That we’ll have to ... to relearn everything, that I’ll have to relearn it all._

 _That’s all right_ he thought back, knowing Charles would read it easily. _I want that. I want to learn things with you. I ... read books all the time, you know ..._

Charles laughed into his mouth, a soft, happy laugh that made Hank feel warm inside. He pulled back and looked at Charles, blushing but determined.

“Can ... can we go to ... to one of our bedrooms?”

“Come to mine,” Charles said.

*

It was wonderful, having Charles lying in his arms again, feeling his fingers gently trace paths through his fur. It was comfortable, familiar, _good_. He found himself purring and Charles gave a soft laugh, rubbing his cheek against Hank’s shoulder.

“I love being held by you.”

“I love holding you.”

He felt silly saying it but Charles’s mind glimmered in his, filled with happiness and hope. He curled against Hank’s body, nuzzling closer. Hank closed his eyes, relaxing into the pillows.

“My parents want to come and visit.”

“That would be nice.” Charles sounded content and sleepy. “I’d like to meet them.”

“I’d like you to meet them too,” Hank said, realising it was true. He _did_ want Charles to meet his parents. He wanted Charles to see the people that had helped make him, wanted them to see Charles.

 _His_ Charles.

“Always.”

Charles’s murmur was almost inaudible but Hank heard it. He wrapped his arms warmly around Charles and cradled him close, closing his eyes and listening to Charles’s soft, snuffling breaths. 

Maybe, when he told his parents about Charles, he’d let them see who he really was too. Somehow, he knew that they wouldn’t mind, not now. They wouldn’t mind anything.

For the first time in forever, he felt as though everything had fallen into place. As though everything _would_ fall into place.

Everything was where it should be and Hank knew that in the end, everything was going to be all right.


End file.
